A Game of Chance
by everlovingdeer
Summary: Narrowing my eyes at him, I reached out to fist his shirt in my hands and yanked him the rest of the distance towards me. My action brought an abrupt silence to the circle and Oliver, now less than a few centimetres away from me, raised an eyebrow challengingly as if daring me to go through with it. I'd show him.
1. A Game of Chance

Oliver Wood was, at his heart, a creature of habit. Once the stubborn Gryffindor settled into his routine it was hard pressed to break him out of it. It was the reason he hated missing a scheduled quidditch practice or having to skip the run he went on every morning before breakfast. His need for everything to follow his planned schedule was the reason he spent almost all his free time making quidditch plays because he'd foolishly set himself an unachievable deadline but Merlin, he was _not_ going to miss it.

And because he was a creature of habit, I knew exactly where to find him at almost all times. It was with that knowledge in mind that I made my way through the library towards one of the lesser used corners of the library which was surrounded by the rarely used Alchemy textbooks. Nestled deep into that corner was Oliver's favourite seat in the library because he claimed he could focus better in that corner as it was the quietest part of the library. Personally, I thought that it was all in his head; it was just as loud as the rest of the library was.

Walking past the bookshelves, I brushed a finger across the titles of the texts which looked as if they hadn't been checked out in over a decade. Sure enough, I found Wood seated at the table with his belongings sprawled across it as if he was silently commanding everyone to stay away. Unfortunately for him, I had never been one to listen to his demands.

"I knew you'd be here," I said with a roll of my eyes, the sound of my voice alerting him to my presence.

He looked up, his quill coming to a sharp halt on the parchment that he'd been doodling on. Using one arm to pull the chair beside him out from beneath the table, he simultaneously used the other to stuff his parchment in his bag. Satisfied that the parchment was safely hidden away, he gestured for me to in the chair beside him and I approached him with narrowed eyes.

"You were just working on another play, weren't you?" I accused, dropping down into the seat beside him. And when he didn't deny my words, I frowned and accused with false hurt, "We've been friends for _years,_ Oliver – why the secrecy? It's hardly necessary."

He rolled his eyes, stretching his arms out above his head and turning to look at me, "How can I trust you when you're on the opposing team? I'd have trusted you in a heartbeat if you weren't the Ravenclaw chaser and you know it."

My frown deepened as I chastised, "Wood."

He couldn't help but chuckle at the sound of my disappointment. Straightening up in his seat, he mimicked, " _More-O'Ferrall_." Knocking his shoulder gently against mine in an attempt to appease me, he asked, "So what are you doing here anyway?"

"We're throwing a party in the Ravenclaw common room," I said, being reminded of the reason that I had been searching him out. "It's this Saturday and it's strictly 7th years only so there'll be as much alcohol as you need to remove that stick you've got up your arse."

Wrinkling his nose in vague annoyance, Oliver scoffed and began to tidy his things which were scattered across the oak table top. Muttering, "You'll just finish it all," he couldn't fight the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips when I gave an offended gasp.

"You really need to stop it with the Irish stereotypes."

He looked to me then, eyebrows raised incredulously. "Like _you_ can be the one to say that to me – in fits of anger you're prone to telling me to go and join Nessie in her lake."

"You can be _very_ aggravating sometimes, Wood," I justified with a shrug. "It's a personality flaw on _your_ half and besides, you deserve it for calling me a leprechaun so often!"

"Then grow a few inches," he shot back instantly. "The only reason I brought up the leprechaun thing, is because you keep making innuendos with my name."

"Can you honestly blame me?" I demanded. "Your name is Oliver _Wood_ and you literally fly around the air on a _long_ -" I cut myself off when Oliver went to stand as if to leave me alone. Clutching his arm quickly with both hands, I spoke hurriedly, "Ok, ok, I won't say anything."

Although he tried to hide it, I caught glimpse of his triumphant smile and rolled eyes. He settled himself back down in his seat. "Good."

"So?" I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Are you going to come or not? To the party?"

"I'll think about it," he said, watching as I rose to my feet to leave him to return to his plotting. He could make as many quidditch plays as he wanted; that cup had Ravenclaw's name written all over it. "But I can't make any promises."

"Well even if you don't come, make sure to tell your dormmates," I ordered, ruffling his hair to a purposefully annoy him as I stepped away from the table.

Content that I had relayed the message to Oliver, I said a quick goodbye and began to make my way out of the library only to stop a few steps later. I'd forgotten something.

Backtracking until I was standing beside the table again, I watched Oliver raise an amused eyebrow, "Yes, lass?"

His smile grew when I narrowed my eyes at him, pointing threateningly at him, "If you turn up in that bloody turtleneck –"

Leaving my unfinished threat hanging in the air, I watched him shake his head with blatant amusement and decided that I could leave now. I'd said all I wanted to and if he _did_ decide to turn up in that ridiculous turtleneck then there was nothing I could do about it. Except maybe subject him to some of the more creative curses that I had learned over the last few years at school.

* * *

By the time Saturday arrived, I had somehow been delegated the responsibilities for making sure that everything was set for the party. And of course, that really meant making sure that nosy younger students weren't trying to hang around whilst the party started; some of these fourth-year girls were pushing their luck. I had eventually managed to get them all up the stairs and to their dorms and the rest of the seventh years slowly filled into the common room.

Now, the biggest problem would be keeping Oliver and Flint away from each other. We all knew of the borderline disastrous argument that the pair of them had gotten into. Flint had ended up with half of his teeth scattered across the floor and Oliver's arm had barely been hanging on by the time they were taken to the hospital wing. They'd had to serve _months_ of detentions and none of us fancied getting this party crashed by one of the teachers after one of their fights began. That was if Oliver was even coming to this party.

The entrance to the common room opened to reveal the entire Gryffindor seventh years who had decided to come in one large group. I watched as the group of them eventually began to split off and, to my utter surprise, Percy Weasley had even arrived with them. Although, I suppose that was down to his relationship with Penelope. My eyes eventually settled onto Oliver as he stood by the entrance of the common room, looking around the room as if he was searching for someone. The moment his eyes landed on me, he was walking through the room towards me.

Glancing momentarily away from him, I poured a drink. By the time I looked back to him he was standing in front of me and I allowed my eyes to rake teasingly over his figure.

"Who knew you were handsome beneath those baggy school robes and ugly turtlenecks," I teased, with a smirk.

He scoffed loudly, accepting the drink I held out for him. Only after taking a sip, did he gesture to my empty hands, "Where's yours? Or should I be worried that you Eagles have smuggled something into the drinks?"

"For your information," I said, pursing my lips a little in annoyance, "I'm staying sober tonight."

He laughed outright, not believing my words for a second. But, realising that I was being truthful, his eyebrows rose in surprise. " _You_. You're staying sober?"

"I drew the short straw," I explained, crossing my arms and casting a look over the common room which was growing steadily more crowded. "At least one of us has to stay sober enough to deflect Flitwick if he comes popping around for a random visit. It's probably just as well – I'm supposed to be meeting him in the morning anyway and I swear that man must be part bloodhound or something – he can smell the alcohol a mile off."

Before Oliver could even _try_ to come up with some sort of response to my words, his attention was pulled away from me as Penelope appeared before the pair of us. She looked contemplatively between us before reaching out to take my arm in her hands.

"Penny," I called out questioningly when she began to pull me away, and naturally Oliver followed after the pair of us. "What's going on?"

"We're playing spin the bottle," she explained, dragging me into the centre of the room where a large circle of seventh-years had formed. "Come and join us – we need to make up the numbers."

"Are you sure?" Oliver questioned suspiciously once I had managed to get my arm back from Penny. He looked over the number of students crowding around the empty bottle. "It looks like you've got enough people."

"Well we don't," she said bluntly, "So come and join us."

"You heard the woman, Wood," I said with a teasingly smile as Penny went to join the circle and settled down across from a _very_ uncomfortable looking Percy. "Unless of course, you're _scared_?"

"You're forgetting I'm a Gryffindor." He glanced back to the waiting crowd of seventh-years. "If a measly game of spin the bottle scared me then I've been sorted into the wrong house." Holding a hand out towards me, he saw the odd look I sent it and couldn't help but goad, "Unless _you're_ scared?"

"Like hell," I scoffed, putting my hand in his and letting him pull me the rest of the way towards the game.

The sight of our approaching figures made others cheer now that the game was finally about to begin. When we made it to the circle, we split off and I settled down between two of my dormmates and looked to see that Oliver had done the same. And just like that, the game was underway. Within minutes, the bottle had landed on Oliver who looked at the spinner – Flint – with daggers in his eyes.

"Approach me and I'll hex you within an inch of your life," he hissed at the still seated Slytherin.

"Like I _want_ to kiss your ugly mug," Flint spat, "I'm not doing it – I'll pay the bloody fine instead."

"Fine," Penny piped up from beside me, "You better pay up tomorrow morning Flint. Wood, your turn."

Oliver rose to his knees, approaching the bottle and spinning it. Eager eyes traced the movement of the bottle, holding their breath until the bottle finally stopped spinning and when it did, I wanted to demand that he spin it again. Because clearly, it didn't count. Oliver hadn't spun it properly, so he _obviously_ needed to do it again.

But before any of those protests could leave my lips, Oliver had crossed the circle to kneel in front of me. I stared up at him in shock, trying to say something.

"Scared?" he questioned arrogantly and that was enough to make the shock leave my system.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I reached out to fist his shirt in my hands and yanked him the rest of the distance towards me. My action brought an abrupt silence to the circle and Oliver, now less than a few centimetres away from me, raised an eyebrow challengingly as if daring me to go through with it. I'd show him.

The game just needed a press of the lips. Nothing more than a few seconds and it would all be over. Taking a breath to gather my frayed nerves, I closed the remaining distance between us to kiss him.

Except, the kiss lasted longer than a few seconds. _A lot_ longer.

I'd had every intention of pulling away from him the moment we'd kissed but something happened. Suddenly Oliver was leaning into me and I certainly wasn't leaning away from him. At one point, my hands which were tightly curled in my lap, actually twitched as I fought the urge to wrap my arms around his neck and draw him in closer to me.

It was only when whispers started to circulate around us that I remembered where we were and what we were supposed to be doing. I drew away from him, swallowing thickly and opening my eyes hesitantly to find his own only a short distance away from mine. He pressed his forehead against mine and the confusion flittering across his features reflected what I felt inside. Clearing my throat abruptly, I drew away from him and he took the cue to return to his space.

"It's my turn, right?" I asked, clearing my throat again as my cheeks heated under the weight of the eyes resting on me.

* * *

The day following the party brought an unusual awkwardness with it. I had woken up on the Sunday morning and my first thought was that I wanted to avoid Oliver for the time being. And because it was a Sunday, it was all too easy to do, especially when I knew where he would be at approximate times of the day. He _was_ a creature of habit, after all.

Almost immediately following the party, my dormmates had corralled me into our shared room to try and get some details out of me. But what was I supposed to tell them when there was absolutely nothing to share with them? Rowena, I'd never even _allowed_ myself to think about kissing him because I was so certain that such a situation would never occur, that he would never reciprocate the feelings that I held deep in my chest and considered to be my darkest secret. It was clear that they were unimpressed, but I couldn't have made up details when there was none, now could I?

But, as it always did, Sunday passed too quickly and Monday eventually reared its ugly head. The problem with Mondays was that the day was kicked off with a double session of potions. And as my bad luck would have it, Oliver happened to be my potions partner – he had been for every potions class we'd ever shared.

By the time I walked into the potions class, he was already settled in his usual seat. Sitting hesitantly beside him, I couldn't help but keep my back straight as I refused to relax in my seat as I normally would have. It was impossible to know whether any interactions between the pair of us would be awkward from now on, but I kept those thoughts to myself. If somehow, things _weren't_ awkward between us, my suggestion that they were would _definitely_ make everything awkward.

So, I kept those thoughts to myself. Even if his presence was suddenly overwhelming.

As Snape took to the front of the class to begin the lesson, Oliver cleared his throat from beside me and I couldn't help but sneak a glance at him. Finding him waiting for my acknowledgement, I hurriedly looked back to my parchment.

"Are you alright?" he whispered quietly, not wanting to be heard by Snape. "You haven't spoken a word since the beginning of the lesson."

"I was just lost in my thoughts," I explained, not untruthfully as Snape told us which potion he wanted us to brew. The rest of the class flicked to the right page in their textbook and we followed along. "You know how I am Oliver."

He nodded, not saying another word as he looked over the recipe that Snape had assigned for us to brew alongside out desk mates. I studied him from the corner of my eye, pretending to read over the recipe as well, and instead watched the way he began to gnaw on the left side corner of his lips in the way he did when he was hesitant about saying something. And sure enough, he straightened in his seat and I watched with mild alarm as his broad shoulders spread further as he gathered his courage. Merlin, I was _not_ going to sit through this awkward conversation. Not with bloody Snape around to hear all of it, anyway.

I rose to my feet before he could begin to say whatever it was he so clearly wanted to say. Oliver looked up at me in surprise, taken aback by the sound of my chair scraping against the floor. "I'll go and get the ingredients then."

His hand shot out, catching my arm before I could move far. I looked down at him in shock and saw the same surprise reflected in his eyes. He'd obviously reacted before he'd even thought about what he was doing.

"You won't be able to carry them all by yourself," he eventually settled for saying, though it was clearly not what he wanted to say. Releasing his hold on my arm, he cleared his throat and moved to rise from his chair. "It's a long list – let me help you."

"It's fine," I insisted, already moving away from the table, "I'll just make two trips."

He didn't offer to help me again and I was grateful for it. Walking away from our shared table, I approached the ingredients that were placed in the corner of the room and took a moment to steady myself. Rowena, _why_ was this so bloody awkward? Things had _never_ been this awkward between us before – even when we'd found ourselves in much worse situations.

After completing two treks to retrieve the ingredients, I returned to our table and found Oliver standing beside the cauldron which was rapidly heating up. We worked steadily in silence, working as a perfect team. And it was only a shame that we'd been sorted into two different houses; a part of me couldn't help but think that if we'd been sorted into the same house then we'd have been on the same quidditch team. Maybe our good teamwork would have carried across onto the pitch?

But I was too scared of well … _everything,_ to belong in the lion's den. And Oliver had claimed loudly, on multiple occasions that he didn't have a single artistic or witty bone in his body, so I guess there was no place for him in the eagle's nest, either.

Absentmindedly, I reached out to cut the aconite root into thin pieces when Oliver silently swatted my hand away. He stole the knife from me and set about cutting the root up.

"You're too much of a klutz," he said quietly, and whilst just days ago those words would have been teasing and meant to poke fun at me, now they just seemed too uncomfortably at odds with the silence the had settled over us. "You cut your finger last time."

"That was once," I said with a sigh, trying to bring some ease back between the pair of us. It didn't work very well – or at all.

Merlin, in all the years we had known each other, never had we had nothing to say to each other. Honestly, it threw me that all it took was a single kiss for things to become so stilted between the pair of us. I was half tempted to find out who had suggested that blasted game of spin the bottle and to wring their neck.

* * *

With our first quidditch match of the year approach us at a startling speed Roger, our newly elected captain, was placing a _lot_ of emphasis on punctuality and attending each of the practices. So really, it was only natural that I was running late for a practice. Roger had scheduled the practice for first thing in the morning and I had woken up late after managing to sleep through my alarm. When I _had_ woken up, I'd rolled over on the bed to get a look at the clock and had promptly shot out of the bed. Changing into my uniform at a surprising speed, I ran to the kitchens with my broom slung over my shoulder. I had learned from experience that flying and an empty stomach did _not_ mix.

After a light and quick breakfast, I ran through the corridors and towards the quidditch pitch. As I ran out of the castle and down the path towards the pitch, I saw the approaching Gryffindor team who were returning from their own practice. But before I could run around the group of them, Oliver took me by surprise and stepped away from his team to block my path. My steps came to a halt and I watched as he gestured for the rest of the team to head inside without him. They did so silently, walking past the pair of us and throwing curious glances between us.

If Oliver saw the way I was glancing impatiently behind him and towards the quidditch field that was _right there,_ he didn't say anything. Growing impatient, I sighed and asked pointedly, "Can this wait? I'm _really_ late for practice."

"More-O' –"

I cut him off before he could even finish saying my surname. "Roger might not be as strict of a captain as I've heard you are, but he still doesn't like it when people turn up late to practices." Adjusting my hold on my broom, I suggested, "Why don't we talk later?"

"Would you even turn up later?" he asked doubtfully, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at me. "You've been acting really weird lately."

I sighed, knowing that it was the truth. But it wasn't as if _he_ hadn't been acting strangely either! We were both at fault in this situation.

"Five minutes," I relented. "If Roger's already going to rip into me for being late, what's another five minutes?"

His defensive posture dropped at my words, arms coming down to his side. Oliver seemed to find himself without the words to say whatever it was that was on his mind and he let out a breath. Rowena, if this continued on for much longer then I was going to just walk around the infuriating man and head to the practice, regardless of whether he had something to say or not.

"Oliver," I prompted.

"Right," he sighed, blowing out a quick breath. "Here goes nothing."

"Oliver," I called out, more gently this time, not used to seeing him so clearly nervous. "What is it?"

"We're friends," he stated the fact and paused again. "We're friends and me doing _this_ is likely to ruin our friendship but Godric, I _need_ to say this. Of course, there's no pressure on you at all. You can say whatever you want to say without worrying about my feelings –"

" _Oliver!"_ I cut him off, realising that he was talking in circles. "Five minutes, remember? I think I'm beginning to know what your team feels like whenever you give them those speeches before your games. How can you say so much without ever really saying anything at all? Just spit it out – like you said, we're friends so you can say whatever you want to me."

He cleared his throat, licking his bottom lip before confession, "I like you – as _a lot_ more than a friend."

My broom almost fell out of my hands due to my shock. Catching it quickly, I cradled it against my chest and I didn't know what to say. "Um – is this your way of just trying to find out what our plans are for the upcoming Ravenclaw and Gryffindor game?"

I tried to make my words come across as teasing, hoping that they would tide the conversation over and get us onto a much safer topic. But they fell _very_ short of being teasing and instead came out sounding rather like I was being strangled.

"The game's months away," Oliver shot back, shuffling a little on his feet as I avoided his eyes.

"Maybe you have an accent fetish?" I tried weakly, really not knowing what else to say but internally cursing myself. Accent fetish? _Really?_ What was I thinking? Except I _wasn't_ thinking; his confession had managed to short wire my brain and left me unable to think of a thing.

He sighed, a little upset that this conversation wasn't going the way he had hoped it would have. Looking at his watch, he sighed, "The five minutes are up. Look – I know I've sprung this on you but – just think about it?"

And because my brain was still suffering the aftereffects of his sudden confession, I found myself promising that I would. Oliver stepped aside, and I took the chance to run around him and towards the pitch where a fuming Roger was waiting for me. But I must have looked so out of it that the younger boy had simply sighed and told me to warm up before joining the team.

* * *

And Rowena, Oliver's abrupt admittance to his feelings was _all_ I could think about. Whenever my mind began to wander during lessons it would, without fail, settle on his voice and he'd recite those words over and over again.

 _I like you – as a lot more than a friend_

 _I like you – as a lot more than a friend_

 _I like you – as a lot more than a friend_

Merlin, what was I supposed to do when it was extremely difficult to concentrate on _anything_ else, especially when I knew he was waiting patiently for whatever answer I had to give him. But what could I tell him when I didn't even know the answer myself? Of course, part of me wanted to accept his heart without so much as a second thought, but that could prove disastrous. There was so much on the line and to risk it all for a romance that was more likely to fail than it was to succeed; because honestly, how many people went on to marry their Hogwarts boyfriend? Not that I was thinking about that yet, but it didn't hurt to think about the future, did it?

"What is it then?" Penny asked, walking beside me as we headed towards our shared Potions class. "I thought you wanted my advice about something? But you haven't spoken a word in over ten minutes."

"I'm just thinking about how to phrase it," I muttered quietly, biting my bottom lip. Releasing it, I turned to the taller witch, "What if there was a friend – a _very_ good friend of yours who decided that they wanted to be more than friends? What would you do?"

"Well I'm currently dating Percy, so I wouldn't do anything." She nudged me with her shoulder, "But this is about you so answer a question of mine – do you like him?"

I nodded but spoke hesitantly, "But what if things don't turn alright in the end and this completely wrecks our friendship? Is it worth that?"

"That depends," Penny said slowly as we turned into the classroom. "Do you think Wood is worth it?"

I didn't bother to ask how Penny knew who I was referring to and instead thanked my dormmate for her help. We split off at the door, heading to our separate seats and as I approached my table I realised that Oliver hadn't arrived yet and settled down, thankful for the extra time to think. It was inevitable that once Oliver arrived I wouldn't be able to make any headway in my contemplations. He was just too distracting.

And maybe that itself answered the question for me?

When Oliver walked into the classroom, he made a beeline for his seat and greeted me with a smile. I returned his greeting and found myself waiting, as I'd done this entire week, for him to try and hasten my decision. But, like every other time, he made no comment on my making him wait and showed no sign of impatience. Instead, he settled comfortably into his seat and asked me whether I'd managed to catch the scores from the last Puddlemere United game? When I admitted that I hadn't, he immediately began to give me a play by play recap of the game which our mutual favourite team won by a large margin.

He paid no heed to the fact that Snape had begun his lesson and instead pretended to take notes as he finished whispering the game stats to me. I briefly wondered whether Oliver knew that when he got excited – whether that was about quidditch or about anything else – his eyes lit up and brought life into his entire face. His smile would become a little more crooked in that way that made him just so much more handsome and his accent became thicker as he spoke quicker, his words coming out in a rush. Maybe _I_ was the one with the accent fetish? Merlin, was there any other girl in the castle who felt herself fall even deeper for a boy when he talked to them about quidditch?

Once Oliver was finished catching me up on the game, he was finally forced to turn his attention back to the potions lesson which was a purely theoretical one. He sighed slightly, his concentration already waning as he scratched behind his ear with the feathered end of his quill. Oliver's left hand rested on the table top, drumming an irregular beat against it and I stared at the hand for a moment.

Releasing the quill from my right hand, I focused my eyes on the Potion's master and rested my hand beside Oliver's. The Gryffindor, if he saw the movement, said nothing and continued looking ahead until I moved my hand, resting it on top of his only to interlink our fingers moments later. The action had his head snapping towards me so quickly that I was surprised that he didn't have whiplash. With an amused smile, I glanced at him to find that his face was wiped of an expression as he carefully regulated it.

Oliver raised an eyebrow in a silent question and at my nod, he was grinning and removing his hand from beneath mine to hold it properly. I watched, a little surprised but smiling softly when he brought my hand to press a kiss to the back of it. And before Snape could clue into the newest developments, we both turned our attention to the depressing man. But even with Snape spitting his usual level of abuse at the students, neither of us could seem to find it within us to stop smiling.

* * *

Dating Oliver wasn't quite as I had imagined it would be. The transition from being friends to being boyfriend and girlfriend wasn't easy. It was, if anything, downright awkward. There were moments where, when his arm wound around my waist, I would get so flustered by the way my heartbeat skyrocketed that I just _had_ to pull away from him to process what was going on. Oliver would always grin in that smug way, knowing the real reason behind my reaction. But I wouldn't trade him for the world.

Or maybe I _would_ trade him for the new Puddlemere keeper, Lowe? Not that Oliver ever needed to find out about how readily I'd do that.

I walked through the library during one of my free periods as I searched through the Arithmancy section in search of a specific text. Dropping back slightly, I stared at the man seated at one of the tables and frowned; what was he doing sitting here and not at his usual table? Watching him confusion for a moment longer, I gave up and approached him from behind.

There was no way for him to see me and so he understandably stiffened when I wrapped my arms around his shoulders from behind. I swore I saw his hand reach for his wand and I wondered why Gryffindor's were so trigger happy.

"Why aren't you at your usual table?" I asked, lips beside his ear and he relaxed at the sound of my voice, his grip on his wand loosening.

"Sometimes change is a good thing," he admitted, grinning when I leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.

Removing my hands from around him, he held them both in one of his and leaned towards me to kiss me properly as he manoeuvred me into the seat beside him. When he pulled away, we were both grinning and I couldn't help but smile fondly when he leaned forward to brush his nose affectionately against mine.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, pulling reluctantly away from me and turning back to whatever, it was that he'd been working on.

"I've got a free period," I explained, watching with furrowed eyebrows as he suddenly covered his parchment with his hands only to decide to stash it away within one of the textbooks littering the desk.

I sighed, crossing my arms and leaning back against the back of the chair. Shaking my head in disappointment, I muttered, "Even though we're dating you're still so secretive about your damned quidditch plans."

Oliver grinned innocently at me, brushing his thumb across my cheek in what was supposed to be a cajoling gesture. "You're still the enemy, dear."

"You're lucky you're cute," I grumbled, rolling my eyes slightly. "Otherwise I'd have made a scene about your lack of trust in me."

"I trust you," he insisted as though he couldn't believe I'd be mistaken about that. Reaching across space between us, he snagged my hand in his and pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of it. "And just so you know – we're going to crush you during the game."

"Oh please, I'd like to see you try," I scoffed before realising what he was trying to do. "Don't go changing the subject, Wood."

"It's just that we're _so close_ to winning the cup this year and Godric if I don't win it before I leave this school then it'll remain a massive regret."

"And I guess it's now my job as your girlfriend to be supportive of your dreams."

"The same way I support your dream to eventually marry Puddlemere's keeper." My eyebrows rose in disbelief; the man had thrown the _biggest_ strop when he'd found out about my admiration so how was he accepting it so easily?

"What's the catch?"

"Did I ever tell you what team I was given the chance to try out for during the holidays?" he asked innocently as if the words held no significance. Shaking my head, I watched as he grinned and reached out to take my hand in his again. "You're looking at the new Puddlemere reserve keeper."

"No way!" I gasped, straightening up in my seat. "When do you start?"

"Once I graduate," he admitted. "Technically I'm not supposed to tell anyone but –"

"When you make the team do you think you'd be able to get me to meet Lowe? You'll probably start off as a substitute, so you'd play together –"

"Lass," he called out warningly, but I paid no heed to it.

"I'm being honest here," I insisted, trying not to smirk. "And when you inevitably take his place as keeper, I can console him and –"

Oliver reached out quickly, covering my mouth with his hand. I stared up into his eyes and watched as they narrowed dangerously at me. "I know you're joking but keep this up and I really won't let you come to practices you meet him."

"That's playing dirty," I whined in protest, the words smothered against his hand.


	2. Epilogue: 6 Years Later

_6 YEARS LATER_

Oliver was behaving oddly and honestly, it was setting me a little on edge.

We were supposed to be going to his parent's home for dinner, but he was being so _formal_ about it as if I hadn't met them before. Even before we started dating, the pair of us had been friends for years and I had been introduced to them a countless number of times. So really, I just didn't understand why he was so nervous about being around his parents.

"What is wrong with you?" I asked with a sigh as I walked through Oliver's apartment and towards the coat rack to grab my coat.

Oliver took it from my hands, holding it out for me to slip into. "It's nothing," he assured me before wrapping an arm around my waist as he prepared to apparate the pair of us to his parent's home. "But why aren't _you_ nervous?"

"Should I be?" I questioned, taken aback as I glanced up into his face. Whilst I hadn't been worried before, his line of questioning was suddenly making me anxious that I'd done something to offend his parents. "The last I heard, your parents love me."

"And they do," he promised firmly. Feeling my searching gaze on his face, he smiled softly and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "They do – I promise. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Then stop _making_ me worry," I said with a sigh that made Oliver laugh quietly. Even when I reached out to swat at his chest, he didn't stop his laughing. "Are you going to apparate us away or am I going to need to do it?"

"No, let's go." He reached into his pocket to retrieve his wand and apparated us away to his parents' house.

Within seconds we found ourselves standing in the entryway of his family home and we were greeted by his parents. Our stay lasted longer than I had expected; we stayed long past dinner and the hours ticked by with Oliver showing no signs of wanting to leave. Whilst I understood his reluctance to leave his childhood home after months of returning to it, I didn't understand why we were still here with the clock almost ticking towards midnight. Did he plan on spending the night here? Rowena, if that had been his plan and he hadn't seen the need to mention that to me, then I was going to have some _very_ strong words with him when we got back.

Mrs Wood, as if reading my thoughts, took one look at the clock before announcing, "You might as well spend the night here – it's an awfully long journey."

That takes seconds whilst apparating, I thought internally as I looked to Oliver with narrowed eyes. But my oblivious boyfriend avoided my eyes and continued the game of chess he was playing with his younger brother. Merlin, I was beginning to think that he really _had_ planned this.

From beside me, Mrs Wood cleared her throat to get my attention and I looked at the eagerly waiting woman. "So? What do you say?"

"I don't see why not," I agreed reluctantly, forcing myself to smile at the older witch.

"Perfect," she beamed, "I'll have Oliver's old room fixed up for the pair of you and we can discuss the wedding while we wait."

"Wedding?" I repeated, hoping I'd misheard her but she just nodded. My heart sunk a little. "Whose wedding?"

"Yours of course."

"We're not even engaged," I protested, expecting Oliver to pipe up and say something to save me from his mother's claws but he remained without a word. Merlin, he really hadn't been kidding when he said she'd already panned a future all in her head.

"You _are_ going to get married, aren't you?" she demanded, looking aghast. She looked to her husband for support but he simply sighed and looked back to his newspaper.

"I guess."

She took offence to my whispered words. "You _guess –_ the pair of you are living together and you have no plans on getting married?"

"But we're not living together," my protests fell on deaf ears.

"Oli!" she called out to her eldest son who _finally_ looked up from the chessboard. "What do you think about the wedding? Next summer? What about it, we can have it here?"

"Whatever you want Mam," he agreed, although his eyes were fixed on mine.

Now after dating someone for years, after having been _friends_ with that person for even longer, you got to know someone extremely well. And I knew from the tone of his voice that his words hadn't just been spoken to appease his rather pushy mother. No, he meant it and it was like another revelation. Had he really used his mother to get her to propose _for_ him? Because he knew that at least this way I wouldn't be able to say no outright?

Merlin, where was the Gryffindor courage he used to rave on about?

"So, what about it?" Coming from my thoughts, I looked to Mrs Wood and took a deep breath at the depth of happiness her eyes showed. "Anyway, we can discuss the details at a later date – but one question? What about the grandchildren?"

"Grand-grandchildren," I repeated. Merlin, I was beginning to feel lightheaded.

"How many are you planning on having? Are you planning on raising them in Scotland? Or in Ireland?"

"We're having an entire quidditch team," Oliver piped up, making his brother snicker. He made no mention of the way I narrowed my eyes warningly at him. "Is that enough for you Mam, or do you want enough for substitute players too?"


End file.
